Take It On Faith
by The Star Room
Summary: It's Christmas Eve in 1989. John's taken off again - this time with a werewolf in Lincoln, Nebraska. Dean and Sam are left at Uncle Bobby's for the night, and Bobby thinks it's about time the kids had a real Christmas. / Young!Dean and Young!Sam. Oneshot.


December 24th, 1989 – 3:00PM

John Winchester was playing Black Sabbath on Christmas Eve.

The sounds of "Paranoid" filled the two-car garage as he tossed another silver fork into the bubbling pot. He double-checked the temperature gauge – 1763 degrees Fahrenheit, perfect – and watched the silver objects in the crucible slowly become liquid. It was odd watching his mother's old necklace melt into an indiscernible mixture; she'd loved the thing almost as much as she loved reruns of _The Twilight Zone. _

He turned back to the cardboard box, rummaging through it to find the smallest chunks of silver. It was a box he kept in the Impala for times like this – times when he needed silver bullets, and naturally, had none left. It was just his luck that there would be a full moon in a few days. He hadn't planned ahead; a rookie mistake.

As he dug through the old jewelry and photo frames, his hand grazed an object at the bottom of the box. Clanging in protest, it fumbled beneath his fingertips until he finally grabbed it, bringing it forth to examine in better light.

It was a simple silver bell. It was about the size of a fist, held aloft by a loop of frayed red rope, which had been knotted twice by someone with sailor's hands. They were Chinese button knots, completely pointless for something as ordinary as a Christmas ornament, but still expertly done. John knew – after all, he was the one who tied them.

The bell was exactly 10 years old – the same age as John's eldest son Dean. Inscribed upon the silver surface, in a curlicue cursive script, were the words "Dean's First Christmas. December 25th, 1979."

John held the bell in his palm, watching the way it glinted in the fluorescent light. He knew exactly where it came from, who had bought it, where it had been stored – he knew its story better than he knew his own gun.

Mary had picked it out for her baby boy in mid-December, after watching _It's A Wonderful Life _for about the fourth time that year (it was one of the few romantic films she could stand without having to turn off the television). She'd seen the little bell in a pawn shop window and decided she needed one of her own – personalized for Dean, of course. John had sidled out into town that evening and bought it with his remaining poker money, which didn't leave him much for a Christmas feast. But Mary was so delighted with the thing – he couldn't help but love it too. He hung it on the Christmas tree every year after that, letting Dean ring it once his hands were big enough to grasp the edges.

Now here it was again, tossed into the box of silver like any piece of junk. It was funny in a rather heartbreaking way. Certainly Mary would never have let it happen.

"You gonna take the kids to mass or somethin?"

John was startled out of his thoughts by a figure in the doorway. His head whipped around to see his intruder, and his hand reached instinctively for his gun.

It was only Bobby, of course – not a demon, not a trickster, nothing John had to kill with a silver bullet. It was only a man in a plaid shirt and oversized vest, his dirty moustache covering his upper lip. He had an unopened beer in his right hand, and was watching John with a steady disapproval.

"Can't," John answered, relaxing. "I'm working a job. There's a werewolf in Lincoln."

"Nebraska?" Bobby asked. "You'll be gone for at least two days."

"That's right," John said, standing up and placing the bell on the tool shelf. He'd do something with it later. Maybe give it to Dean. Maybe not.

"You damned Scrooge, it's Christmas Eve," Bobby scoffed. "You're just gonna leave your kids?"

"People's lives are at stake, Bobby."

"People's lives are always at stake! Your boys' lives are at stake, if you keep ignorin 'em every wakin second!"

John stood up, glaring at his friend who so often seemed like his enemy. "I am not ignoring my boys. I'm doing this to keep them safe."

"Oh, and I suppose handin 'em a six-gun is as safe as a sandbox, huh?"

"I'm not arguing with you about this, Bobby. You chose the life of a hunter. You know why I did the same." John turned back to his crucible of melting silver, opening one of the bullet molds on the work bench.

"Ya'd think, after all these years, one of those creatures would've put the fear of God in ya," Bobby muttered, just loud enough for John to hear.

John snorted, grinning in spite of himself. "Those are some choice words coming from you, Bobby Singer. When's the last time you stepped foot in a church?"

"Last week, thanks. Trapped a demon on holy ground. Got a free Bible out of the gig."

"Well, good for you. I'm glad you have faith. Mary just didn't seem to have enough of it, I suppose."

The dig was deep enough – Bobby was silent for a moment. Mary had been an protestant for most of her life, praying on her knees every evening. And she'd been killed by the yellow-eyed demon just like anybody else.

"I ain't sayin I'm a saint, John," Bobby said quietly. "Hell, I don't know what to make of half the Biblical lore. But I sure as hell ain't leavin a bunch of kids on Christmas Eve. They're supposed to be goin to sleep thinkin Santa's crawlin down their chimney, not that Daddy's gettin chewed up by a werewolf."

"I'll be fine. I'll pick the boys up something in Nebraska. Dean could use a new hunting knife," John replied, still facing away from Bobby, pouring liquid silver into the molds.

"A new hunting knife," Bobby echoed. "Not a Batman action figure. A hunting knife."

"I'm not expecting you to approve," John said. "You never have. But I'm not sitting around drinking egg nog and humming 'Jingle Bells' while some kid's mother is being ripped to pieces."

"So you'll park the kids with Uncle Bobby and lie to Sammy when he asks you where you've been," Bobby said. "Sounds like a real good plan."

John set the bullet molds aside and grabbed his duffel bag off the garage floor, slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm taking off as soon as those are cool. Tell the kids I had an urgent business conference. Our company's stock took an unexpected plummet. Dean will know what that means."

"Fine."

"And give this to him," John said, taking the bell off the shelf and tossing it into Bobby's hands. "I found it in the silver box. He can keep it if he wants."

Bobby turned the ornament over, passing his thumb over the inscription. Part of him wanted to shout and throw it back in John's face, but he decided against it. He slipped the bell into his pocket, sighing as he looked back at John.

"The kids'll be fine," John said. "Dean's tough. And Sammy's –"

"Young," Bobby finished. "6 years old, last time I checked."

John didn't reply.

"Have a safe trip, John," Bobby said as he turned around and walked back towards the house. "And have a very merry Christmas."

* * *

December 24th, 1989 – 6:00PM

"I look stupid."

A ten-year-old Dean Winchester stood in front of a full-length mirror, staring at his sagging tie and oversized suit jacket. He'd tried to comb his hair back, but a cowlick in the back persistently popped up. As for his shoes, they were a muddy mess – he didn't have any shoes besides his work boots and sneakers.

"Nonsense. You look like any other snot-nosed jerk with no fashion sense," Bobby replied, adjusting his own bow tie.

"Shut up," Dean replied, but couldn't help grinning.

"It doesn't matter. From what I've heard, church goers ain't supposed to judge other people on their clothing choices. 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' and all that crap," Bobby told him.

"I still don't get why we're going to church," Dean replied, tugging at his collar. "We never go to church."

"That's because your dad's too busy convincing the world he's Superman."

Dean was quiet, but looked demure. To him, his dad _was _Superman. His dad was the coolest man on the planet, the steely figure with all the right moves and all the right answers, who made all the right decisions at all the right times. John was Dean's hero, his role model in a world of chaos.

Bobby sighed. "Look, kid. I know you ain't religious, I know your dad don't believe in any of that, and I know I'm no angel. I practically put the 'sin' in sinner."

"Then why are we going to church?" Dean asked. "It sounds dumb to me."

"Consider it a research project."

"For what? I already know Christian stuff. Dad already taught me about holy water. I keep a bottle in my backpack when I –"

"This isn't about huntin demons, Dean. This is a research project for normality. Tonight, you'll be learnin how normal kids behave on Christmas Eve."

Dean muttered under his breath, "We aren't normal kids."

Bobby snorted. "Don't I know it. Now shut your cakehole and go get your brother. We're leavin 'n ten minutes. If you ain't waitin at the door at 6:10, I'm leavin your asses for the zombies."

"Bobby, there aren't any zombies in this town. Dad would've told me," Dean replied.

"What did I tell you about shuttin your cakehole?"

Dean snickered and ran out the bedroom door, already calling Sammy's name. Bobby faced the mirror, looking himself up and down. He was wearing a simple blue bow tie with his black suit jacket and crisp white shirt. He hadn't dressed this nicely in years – maybe even since his wedding. Karen would have loved to see him like this, all gelled up and spiffy.

He smirked and put his flask of holy water in his back pocket. Just because tonight was supposed to be "normal" didn't mean it would be. Bobby knew very well the kind of life he led. If it came between teaching the kids a lesson and warding off a demon, he would chase after the demon.

But if he could give the boys one night, just _one_ night, where they could be youngsters … well, he'd do his best.

* * *

December 24th, 1989 – 7:30PM

Bobby, Dean and Sam sat in the aisles of Sioux Falls Methodist Church, listening to a man in robes recount the story of Jesus in the manger. Bobby swallowed hard, feeling hot and uncomfortable in such a compact place. John was right, it had been years since he'd attended a real church, listened to an actual sermon, and prayed a real prayer. But he couldn't deny there was something soothing in the music, and the familiar "Baby Jesus" verses. He could at least stand there knowing demons weren't lurking about; the creatures steered clear of most churches, especially around Christmas time.

He glanced down at Dean and Sam, who (to his surprise) were both listening intently to the sermon. Little Sammy was practically drowning in his collared shirt, but he looked pleased enough. His hands rested in his lap, on top of the hymnal, which he'd been leafing through as if it were a harlequin novel.

_Probably just happy to be out of the house, _Bobby thought, turning his attention to Dean. The older brother also seemed content, if not as enthusiastic as his younger counterpart. His eyes flitted about the room every so often, taking in the pictures of angels and saints in Renaissance frames, the wooden crosses lining the walls and the lit candles along the aisles.

He was intrigued, Bobby could tell. This was something of a new world for Dean. Evil was familiar; a slap-across-the-face he knew better than any other kid his age. But good? Good was practically foreign.

"This is love," the pastor read, "not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. That, friends, is love."

Bobby _hoped_ that was love. It would be nice to know there was someone else out there who had a leash on evil, someone else who stuck his neck out and took the fall.

God only knew there was enough nastiness out there for Bobby and the hunters to deal with already.

The sermon ended shortly after and they all stood to sing "Joy to the World." Bobby was amused to see Sammy trying his best at harmonies – the kid wasn't much of a singer, being six years old and never having a single music lesson in his life. Dean grinned every time his little brother slipped up and said a lyric wrong, but Bobby was sure Dean didn't know the words any better. The lyrics to every Metallica song? Sure, Dean had those down pat. But Christmas carols? Oh, God forbid.

Maybe, this year, he'd finally learn.

_And maybe pigs will fly_, Bobby thought, realizing only after a moment that he'd seen things stranger than flying pigs. Maybe Dean and Sam knowing a few lines of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" wasn't all that impossible.

After the congregation was dismissed, the three of them walked back out to the parking lot together, as everyone around them exchanged a "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays." Passing an elderly couple, Sammy blurted out, "God bless you!" and Bobby burst out laughing.

"Alright, Tiny Tim," he said, putting his hands on the young boy's shoulders. "At this rate, you'll be a priest before you're eighteen."

"Yeah, a priest who can't sing," Dean said, but an uncharacteristically cheerful smile lit his face.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam replied, and ran ahead to the car.

The three of them climbed into Bobby's rusted truck as the clock struck 8, and started making their way home. The streets were alit and crowded, and Sammy's nose pressed against the glass as he watched the shoppers pass. They were still bustling about Sioux Falls, buying last-minute Christmas gifts for sons and daughters and wives, picking up a pie for Grandma or a cake for the neighbors. Dean gaped at one youngster with an expensive skateboard tucked under his arm, wrapped in a shiny red bow. Mistletoe hung from storefronts and holly from stop signs, while every tree along the road was covered in twinkling lights.

"Is this what Disney World is like?" Dean asked, watching a young couple exchange a kiss before crossing the street.

"Something like it, kid," Bobby replied, accelerating as the stoplight turned green. "Something like it."

They drove along the stretch of highway for fifteen minutes, until Bobby suddenly veered off course. Sammy didn't notice, too engrossed in the leaflet he'd picked up at the front of the church – "Raising Your Child With Christ." Dean, on the other hand, looked over at Bobby.

"I thought we were going back to your house," he said.

"We are," Bobby replied. "We're just making a quick pit stop."

Dean immediately grabbed at his backpack, unzipping the front pocket and searching for his flashlight. "What is it this time?" he whispered under his breath, so Sammy couldn't hear. "Demon? Werewolf? What about a vengeful spirit? Dad hates those. Sam really shouldn't be here for this. We should take him home first."

"For goodness' sake, Dean, put the backpack away," Bobby replied. "We're goin to Walmart, and last time I checked it wasn't haunted."

"Walmart?" Sam asked from the back seat, his attention torn away from the church pamphlet.

"Yes, Walmart!"

"Why are we going to Walmart?"

"I dunno, I was thinkin we'd buy a tea set and some stuffed dolls and have a princess tea party!" Bobby exclaimed sarcastically. "It's Christmas Eve, ya idjits. I'm takin ya to get Christmas presents."

"What?" Dean sounded shocked.

"Christmas presents, ya heard of em? Or is your dad really that much of a –"

"What kind of presents?" Sam asked, poking his head between Bobby and Dean, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Whatever ya want, kiddo. Knock yerself out."

"Bobby, I don't think Dad –" Dean started.

"I don't give a rat's ass what your father would think," Bobby interrupted, as he parked the car in front of a shining blue Walmart. "Now go inside and get something that normal kids would get. If I see you head towards the hunting section, I swear I'll tear you limb from limb."

"But I need a new –"

"Hunting knife, I know," Bobby said. "Don't worry about that. Your father and I can take care of that. Right now, you go find something dumb and expensive that doesn't resemble a weapon or a theology book."

Sammy had already leapt from the truck and was tearing across the parking lot, racing through the sliding steel doors into the shopping center. Dean called after him, running to catch up. He glanced back at Bobby, as if to ask "is this really okay with you?" and Bobby nodded. Hell, let the kid have some fun. It was Christmas.

It was hardly 8:30 before Sam had already filled an entire shopping bag. Transformers and model airplanes topped his selection, but Bobby could see he'd selected quite a few books as well, most of them about Batman. There was a t-shirt and a scarf in there too – the kid was relatively practical for a six-year-old.

Dean, on the other hand, was taking his time. He carefully selected a Duran Duran CD and Indiana Jones poster, noting how Harrison Ford was definitely the "coolest." He swept about the toy section for a while, before something small and new caught his eye. He stopped in front of it, staring like he was watching an alien abduction.

Bobby came up behind him, crossing his arms and staring at the object in its glass case. It didn't look all that special to him – it was a grey box with some buttons and a tiny green screen. "What _is _that exactly?" he asked.

"It's a Nintendo Game Boy," Dean replied, his voice full of awe. "They were just released this year and _everyone_ has them. They can play Tetris and everything."

"Tetrix?"

"Tetris. It's like a block game. It's _so_ cool."

"Uh huh, sounds like the bees knees."

Dean started circling around the Game Boy, observing every angle as if in an interrogation room. Bobby watched this go on for several minutes, until it slowly became pathetic.

"Look, if you keep droolin over that thing, I'm gonna have to call security or something because you're startin to freak me out," Bobby said. "Ya want it? Get it."

Dean stared at Bobby incredulously. "Bobby, it's 89.99. That's, like, two whole months of McDonald's."

"You do my laundry for the next week and it's a done deal."

"You're not serious."

Bobby shrugged. "Fine, two weeks of laundry. Plus you have to sing 'Silent Night' to your brother before bed tonight."

"Bobby, you know I can't sing."

"The price is just gonna keep rising, Dean. You're now up to three weeks of laundry and a bedtime song. You wanna keep going, or are you gonna get the Game Boy?"

Dean turned around and snatched one of the game systems off the shelf, beaming from ear to ear. He put it in his bag carefully, like he was handling a grenade, nestling it between the CD and the poster. Bobby hadn't seen the kid look that happy in months.

"Thank you Uncle Bobby!" Sam cried out of nowhere, and wrapped his arms about Bobby's considerable waist. He was now up to two shopping bags full of toys and books, so heavy that he practically had to drag them along the linoleum floor.

"You're welcome, son," Bobby replied, helping Sammy with his bags. He turned back towards Dean, who was holding his gifts like they contained the secret to happiness. "You ready to check out?"

"Just one last thing," Dean replied, and grabbed a bag of M&Ms from the shelf. "These are Dad's favorite."

"Can't forget about John, can we?" Bobby sighed, and headed towards the check-out counter.

He decided he'd close his eyes when the clerk started ringing up the items. Honestly, he didn't really want to know the price.

* * *

December 24th, 1989 – 10:00PM

Dean Winchester was playing Duran Duran on Christmas Eve.

"Hungry Like The Wolf" blasted from Bobby's sound system, as Sammy made his action figures dance to John Taylor's bass line. The living room was littered with candy wrappers and opened boxes, the kitchen table was covered in batteries and instruction manuals, and there wasn't a demon for miles.

Dean sat with his feet tucked under him, his newly purchased Game Boy chirping the tunes of Tetris, while Bobby flipped through the channels, avoiding the corny Hallmark Christmas specials where he could. A glass of eggnog sat on the coffee table beside him, and he sent John a silent toast, despite their afternoon argument. Just because he didn't care for Winchester's hunting habits didn't mean he wanted his children to be fatherless.

After another half an hour, Sammy was passed out on the rug in front of the TV, his head resting on one of his books. Dean's eyes were drooping, but he kept them open to watch the tail end of _It's A Wonderful Life. _The credits were just beginning to roll, when Bobby sat up in his chair. He reached into his pocket, figuring now was as good a time as any.

"Your dad told me to give this to you," Bobby said, and brought out the silver bell with its personalized inscription. "I'd assume it's from your mother."

He passed the object over to Dean, who handled the ornament gingerly, with something akin to confusion on his face. He wasn't used to figures from his past. He wasn't used to anything that reminded him of Mary.

He passed his thumb across the cursive lettering – "Dean's First Christmas. December 25th, 1979" – and swallowed.

"You really think that stuff is real?" he asked Bobby.

"What stuff, son?"

"'Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings,'" he recited. "Angels and stuff. God. Jesus in the manger and saints on clouds. You really think it's real?"

"I can't tell ya, Dean. That's something you'll have to decide for yerself."

"Mom believed in angels."

Bobby nodded. "I know she did."

"I wonder if she's with them now."

"I like to think she is."

Dean looked up at him, and Bobby could see there were tears in the corners of his eyes. He was trying very hard to hold them back. "I don't want to think that demon dragged her down to Hell."

"Dean…"

"I want to think some angels saved her or something," the ten-year-old said. "Or Jesus. He came to atone for sins, right? So why didn't he save Mom?"

"Maybe he did, son, and maybe he didn't. We can't know for sure. That's why they call it 'faith'. That's why it's hard."

"Why can't we see angels? Or God? We can see demons. We know they're real."

"You're askin some tough questions, kiddo," Bobby replied, smiling. "Questions few people can answer. I certainly can't. You've seen me on Sunday morning. I usually have a beer in my hand and my feet on the table."

"What do _you_ believe?" Dean asked, and there was a real selfless curiosity to his voice, which was unusual. He was struggling to understand. He _wanted_ to believe. And that was good. That was really good.

"I believe Christmas isn't just a bunch of pagan legends thrown together in a bubbling pot of mythology," Bobby replied. "I think there's something to the whole Jesus thing. I'm not sure, Dean, but here's how I think about it: if there are demons out there, I don't see why there can't be angels too."

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath, and turned back to his Game Boy. He was done philosophizing for the evening. He'd had enough.

Bobby chuckled to himself, and stood up, nudging Sammy awake so he could put him to bed. The six-year-old blinked up at him, yawning loudly, and grabbed his blanket before he climbed onto his mattress in the other room. Dean followed him, humming "Silent Night" (he refused to sing it).

As Bobby watched this bedtime procedure, he thought he'd read the kids _A Christmas Carol _the following morning. Why the hell not? He'd been enough of a pansy today. It couldn't get a whole lot worse.

To be honest, he didn't know what today would mean to the boys a few years from now. He wasn't sure how the kids would turn out. Maybe they'd be replicas of their father, little toy soldiers carrying out orders, with blood on their hands and knives at their backs. But maybe they'd have some extra gumption. Maybe they'd learn a few things from this Christmas. Maybe they'd have something to remember, something to believe in, something to fight for. Maybe they'd still have each other.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Bobby would just have to take it on faith.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hi there and thanks for reading! This is my first time writing a Supernatural fic, so I did my best to stay true to characterization and the times. Please let me know any feedback you have. Have a merry Christmas! **


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